Cavalier
by lostinelysia
Summary: DMHG Oneshot. Hiding from yourself is worse than hiding from the world. Draco and Hermione wonder what they are doing in an empty transfiguration classroom.


DISCLAIMER: Don't own any of these characters, J.K. Rowling does.

Thanks to the reviews for notifying me of the grammar errors --;;.

I find myself asking him what we are doing, and when we will stop at the queerest times.

He likes to ignore me at times like these, and make silly comments about the weather or on current Quidditch standings. I slap his arm and he grins foolishly at me and plants a soft kiss on my waiting lips. I tell him to be serious, and he pulls a straight face, and then kisses me once more. Unable to resist, like always, I lean in and we continue like this, engrossed in each other and minds so hazy that we lose track of the world, for the next five minutes, or until one of us has to come up for a quick breath, before continuing as if the pattern was never broken.

Draco and I both know that we are hiding from the unaware world. When I ask him what we are doing, it is a feeble attempt to show some signs of bravery. But then again, an attempt is only an attempt. We continue hiding, because we do not know what else to do. Midnight excursions to the long derelict transfiguration room five doors down from McGonagall's has become a daily part of our monotonous lives, just as exchanging empty threats and unfelt insults in the corridors between classes has been regarded by everyone else as a part of who we are. We make no move to correct their assumptions. Often times, Draco and I feel that this is enough, chaste kisses that require no dedication, need none of my powerful analyzing, that never break our tentative illusions of each other. But sometimes, like tonight, we remember who we are and realize that what we think and what we feel are on two entirely different planes. Yet we do nothing to satisfy our thirst for something real. We are not sure how to deal with each other, even though we have spent three hundred and sixty-five nights in each other's company.

Tonight we are in the transfiguration classroom again, which Draco has named Heaven as a silly joke. I laughed along with him when he mentioned this, but I could not help but feel a slight pang, and I wondered if I wished it were not a joke. I am sitting in one of the chairs at the back of the room, with a couple sheets of potions notes spread in front of me. Draco is in the same column as me, but right in the front. We pretend to overlook the other's presence. He hums a light tune I have recently heard on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Kicking his foot lightly to the tune, he begins to hum a little louder. I know that he is trying to distract me from my work; it is a ritual we engage in every time we meet. I study, he stops me, we kiss, we smile, we leave.

Tonight I am feeling a bit irked at his audacity. "Contrary to popular belief, Hermione Granger actually _does_ need to study for her tests, so she would be most happy if the brilliant Draco Malfoy, who of course has already reviewed for the potions' quiz, would allow her a few minutes to look over her notes." I say in a light, mocking tone.

I can see his smirk through the back of his head. He crawls out of his chair and saunters over to me. "Study? Hermione Granger? Why, I don't think it's possible! With a brain like that, how can she possibly cram any more information inside?" He places himself backwards into the chair in front of my desk and looks at me with wide, innocent, grey eyes that threaten to tip me off the edge of the universe if I am not careful.

"Well, actually, studies show it is _very_ possible, considering that she does it every single night under the watchful eye of one Draco Malicious Malfoy." I say shrewdly, and deliberately look at my notes instead of Draco's adorable boyish face.

He pouts, and I resist an urge to kiss it away. "Given me a new middle name have you? I think I deserve to be called, 'Draco Amazingly-sexy-really-good-kisser Malfoy' instead of your silly, untrue jests. Someone might think I am a bit evil, listening to you." He looks at me and tries to summon some tears into his eyes, but fails miserably.

I laugh and reply, "A bit? Replace bit with lot and you've got it, Mister Malfoy."

"Oh, you heartbreaker. As if you don't have your own devious little ways."

I cock an eyebrow and look at him in surprise. "Which ways would we be talking about now?"

He smirks and locks my gaze. "People might think you're a marvelous little Gryffindor but I know better. What kind of Gryffindor kisses like a sex-deprived devil?"

I frown and poke him in the chest. "You're so full of yourself, Malfoy! Mark my words, Slytherins are _not_ the only good kissers in this world."

Draco licks his lips, and I unconsciously copy his movement. "Of course not, Hermy, we're the best."

"So conceited. Did I ever tell you the story of Narcissus?"

He yawns and stretches out his back. "Only around fifty times, but do continue."

"Well, he was vain. And then he died. The end." I return to my potions notes, and skim through a paragraph on the handling of acromantula poisons.

"Granger, that is the shortest story you have ever told. Are you sure you're okay? Or do I have to kiss your sickness away?" He peers at my face, just an inch away. I pull back before I surrender to his suggestion.

"Perfectly sure. You're the one that needs some serious help with that Slytherin bigotry." I give him one of his own trademark smirks .

He groans and leans back into the desk behind him. "Hermione! I know you're seething with jealously over my house, but we all know that if you weren't a mudblood, you'd be the first and foremost Slytherin queen."

Silence happily greets his words. I tense and grip my quill with unneeded power. He is right in front of me, but I dare not look up for the fear of leaking tears. For an entire year, he has not said, "mudblood," in front of me, and both of us know that this is just a slip of his tongue, that he does not mean it anymore. But even a slip of a tongue signifies something is wrong with what is happening between us.

I know he is going to apologize for his cavalier use of words, but I interrupt his unspoken thought. "What are we doing here, Draco?"

I finally look up at him, to notice that his eyes have changed into a grey so dark it is almost black. He doesn't reply because he has no answer.

"Why are we doing this? This is so wrong, this is against everything we believe in." I pause and wonder if I am really going to go through with my thoughts, or if I should hide and pretend nothing ever happened. With a bit of courage that Gryffindors are always characterized by, I press on. "What if people knew? Harry would kill you, Lucius would kill me. Where are we _going_ with this?"

For a long time, I think he is not going to respond. I wait for him to say something to me, to reassure me or kiss me, or say he is sorry, but I hear nothing. I am almost at the door when he replies, "No one has to know."

I stop walking and look back at him. He has an unusually determined look on his amazing face, and that is what prevents me from ignoring him and leaving.

"I don't know what we are doing anymore than you do, Hermione," he says, looking at me levelly. "But I don't see how it has anything to do with anyone else."

Almost letting my jaw drop at his naivety, I say, "This has _everything_ to do with everyone else! This whole thing—this whole, _us_, we won't even exist if anyone else knew what we were doing! And what are we doing? I know who you are, Draco, and you know who I am. We can just stop pretending we're strangers now. After all of this, you're going to go home to Voldemort, and eventually try to kill me. I'm going to become an Auror and try to kill you. What are we pretending for?" I am close to tears as I say these words. They sound much more real when they are actually said.

Draco, again, does not respond immediately. He rubs a spot on his desk absently before he replies. "We like this."

I am feeling agitated by his short, uncanny responses. "This? The kissing? Merlin, I think we can live without the kissing!"

"Not the kissing." He says softly, shaking a strand of white-blond hair away from his pale features.

"There's nothing other than the kissing," I whisper.

He laughs. "Yes there is."

I am finding it hard to breathe and I don't know why. "What else is there?"

"Us."

It is not what I expected. I blink at him in confusion. "Us? Of course there is us. Without us we wouldn't even have this problem."

Draco looks up at my defiant face, and sighs. "The concept of us. Me and you. You and me. Together. " He walks over to me and holds my hand. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel what?" I feel it.

"The electricity. The intensity. The understanding." He drops my hand and I feel like he has ripped my heart in two.

"What is it?" I am afraid to know at this point.

He looks at me with troubled eyes, and shakes his head. "You know what it is."

He walks out of the door and I stand there, completely still. After a few minutes, I gather my things and leave too.

The next day, I arrive in the transfiguration class room five doors down from McGonagall's room. I am surprised to find out that Draco is there before me.

I spread out my transfiguration homework and begin to ink my quill.

"My, my, Granger, and I thought you completed your homework three weeks beforehand; is this next year's homework?"


End file.
